


Strength

by Zoi no miko (zoi_no_miko)



Category: Green Mile (1999)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Plot What Plot, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-22
Updated: 2010-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-06 13:44:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoi_no_miko/pseuds/Zoi%20no%20miko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the worst execution of his life, Paul turns to an old friend to help him cope. (spoilers for the movie) H/C PWP for Porn Battle on IJ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strength

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle on InsaneJournal. Prompt: The Green Mile, Paul/Brutal, taking comfort

I've seen the kind of ugly things men are capable of. Dark, hateful, despicable things. Things that wear the heart down, after a while, make you feel empty inside. Sometimes, when it gets too bad, when you get too empty, you have to find something better to fill yourself back up.

The night we killed John Coffey was a long night. When everything was said and done and taken care of, I found myself walking up and down the mile in the wee hours of the morning, slowly, back and forth again and again.

I was so empty that night.

As I reached the end of the stretch yet another time, Brutal moved to my side, stopping me with one large, strong hand on my arm. "You're gonna wear yourself out like that, Paul."

I looked up and caught his gaze - quiet, concerned, knowing. Then I nodded, and let him take me back into the office, quiet and alone behind locked doors. I didn't have to say anything, because he knew, and I knew, and we were both empty and aching. He just caught my hips, urging me back against the wall, and pressed close against me.

We didn't kiss, not on the lips. Lips were for romance and women, and not for something like this. Instead, he pressed his face to my hair with a long sigh, and I let my eyes close, tilted my head back and breathed in the comforting, familiar scent of aftershave and musk. I let my face nestle into his neck, nuzzling the slight roughness of skin, drinking in the relief of just being close.

With our eyes closed, everything dissolved into touch - his mouth brushing against my temple, nuzzling my cheekbone, my ear. My hands stroked slowly over broad shoulders and strong arms, stroked his chest and sides as he touched mine. Sometimes this was all that was needed, the warm reassurance of touch. Tonight was more than that. Tonight we encouraged the slow build of desire, needing it, heating each other with lips pressed to skin and clothes that were slowly undone and pushed aside to bare skin. His strong hands were warm and tough and reassuring, sliding against my skin, and his chest was hot and solid under my hands.

When his fingers finally tugged down my shorts, when his hand curled around my prick, I gave a long sigh against his neck, feeling tension ebb from me that I hadn't realized I'd been holding in. I returned his affection, cupping and stroking his balls, feeling their soft weight against my palm, then finally wrapping my fingers around him, stroking slowly from root to tip. He sighed like I had, breath a warm caress against my hair, and we fell into a slow, familiar rhythm, pressed so close that there was hardly room between us to stroke.

Some would call this unnatural, but I daresay they haven't seen what I have. This wasn't about power or pain or selfishness. There was nothing ugly about this, just a warm, safe reassurance, an unselfish gift we could share with each other. Shelter against the storm of the world.

We made it last as long as we could, movements slow and languid until our fingers were slick with the seed that pearled on the heads of our pricks, until our breath was laboured and desperate. Then he pulled my hand away and pressed against me, hands clenched tight on my hips as mine were on his shoulders, and our bodies moved together like lovers. The firm, sweat streaked stretch of his stomach and the hardness of his prick against mine was overwhelmingly good, so much heat between us that it was a wonder I didn't melt. My hips rocked up helplessly against him, once, twice, and then I was spilling between us, the beauty and pleasure of it rushing warm and bright inside me. I heard him gasp my name, hardly more than a breath, then felt him shudder and find release as well, adding to the warmth that blossomed between us.

We stayed like that as long as we could, pressed close as frantic breathing slowed, as pulses returned to normal. We stayed close until our pricks had softened and the cool air nipped at my skin. I needed it as much as anything else, and I wondered how I would ever have survived this job without Brutal.

I still don't know exactly how, but I always felt stronger, after being with him like that. Something about his quiet, unconditional acceptance and companionship took away the ache. It made it easier to face the day, and I could go on.


End file.
